asked.
“Our options are limited,” I said. “I think it would be better if you were here trying to work on the Agency. Start with Bryson.”
“Bryson’s been listening to Beezle for the last couple of hours and he hasn’t broke,” J.B. said.
“Don’t try to break him. Try to reason with him. You’re management. He’s got to respect you.”
“As a midlevel supervisor, my status is roughly on par with his.”
“What do you want to do, then? Give up? Watch our colleagues get taken by Azazel and used for vampire food?”
“No. It’s just…”
“All the alternatives suck, no matter how we try to play this. If you hang around me long enough, you get used to stuff like that.”
J.B. smiled briefly. “Let’s go get Bryson, then.”
We agreed that J.B. would hold Bryson here until the rest of us had safely departed for the Forbidden Lands. After that he could release Bryson or take him elsewhere to try to convince him to help.
As we went down the stairs I heard Beezle holding forth on the merits of cheese popcorn versus caramel popcorn.
“Of course, you can always blend the two, a la the famous Chicago mix, but I prefer not to mix my salty and sweet together. You wouldn’t put a doughnut in a bowl of potato chips, would you?”
Bryson was gagged and tied to an old metal chair that must have been found in the piles of junk. His eyes were glazed over and his jaw set. He looked like a man who’d had a tiny drop of water falling on his forehead continuously for the last couple of hours. Beezle hovered in front of his face, talking endlessly.
Samiel had dealt with Beezle simply—by not facing him. I’d often thought that the reason he tolerated Beezle so well was because he couldn’t hear. He stood behind the gargoyle, arms crossed, staring at Bryson.
Nathaniel leaned against the wall to Bryson’s left, and he appeared to be at the end of his rope. He seemed to be contemplating Beezle’s slow demise.
“That’s enough, Beezle,” I said, and Nathaniel shot me a grateful look.
Bryson sighed in relief.
“We’re remanding you into J.B.’s custody,” I said, taking the gag off the Agent. “He’s got some important things to tell you.”
I jerked my head so that Nathaniel, Samiel and Beezle would follow me.
“Agent Black,” Bryson called after me.
“Yes?” I said, turning back. Maybe he’d had a change of heart while listening to Beezle drone.
“I won’t forget this,” he said, the light of fury burning once again in his eyes.
I nodded, though my heart sank. I couldn’t care less about Bryson’s threats, but with an attitude like that he’d be impossible to convince. And I was sure that the Agency would be more receptive to Bryson than to J.B. or me.
Once the rest of the troops were assembled upstairs, I explained what had happened at Chloe’s and at the playground.
“So the four of us are going after Antares,” I said.
“What about me?” Beezle asked.
“I just assumed there was some important TV show you needed to watch, or perhaps you wanted to get into the pantry unhindered,” I said.
“Like I would miss this,” Beezle said.
“All aboard for the Forbidden Lands,” I said.
16
WE STOOD ON A LONG ROAD WITH A CRACK RUNNING down the center. In the distance were jagged peaks of mountains under flashes of silver lightning. And in the foreground, a giant leafless tree scraping white claws against the sky.
I’d been here once before, when my crazy many-greats grandmother had brought me here to kill Ariell, Samiel’s mother, who hadn’t been the sanest creature herself.
I’d died here, too, for a little while. Ramuell had torn my heart out. For a moment I thought I could feel it again, feel his clawed hand pushing through flesh and bone and closing over my beating center. Then I took a deep breath, and let it go. I had to.
“There’s no other way inside?” I asked Samiel.
His eyes were bleak. I could tell that he wasn’t reliving happy family memories.
The Grigori closed all the paths to the nephilim save the way through the tree after they re-bound their children.
“But Azazel had two nephilim in his mansion,” I said. “So he may have opened another passage.”
“But do we have time to search for it?” Nathaniel asked.
I sighed. It was my own reluctance that was keeping us from moving forward. I didn’t have any happy memories of this place, either.
“Let’s go,” I said.
The air wasn’t as frigid as Chicago’s winter, but it felt significantly less friendly. There had always been a sense of malice in the air here, and as we walked down the barren road, dread settled upon me like a cloak.
Beezle was tucked inside my coat, only his horns and eyes peeking over the lapel. Even he didn’t have any smart remarks to offer.
After much loud discussion, we’d decided to go first to the Valley of Sorrows where the nephilim were held. Azazel had already freed at least two nephilim, and there was a fair chance that he was using that cave as the base of his operations. I’d argued that it was far too obvious a place, but Jude had pointed out that at least it was somewhere to start, and better than roaming aimlessly over the mountains.
So to the cave of the nephilim we would go.
The tree loomed larger against the sky as we got closer and closer. As we approached it, sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I did not want to go in there again.
No one spoke. I think we all could feel the menace of this place, and wanted to avoid attracting its attention.
After a long time, we reached the tree. Samiel opened the secret door, and we went into the underground tunnel. I was heartily sick of tunnels and passages and secret ways, especially after my assorted experiences with the fae. There had never been anything good waiting for me at the end of a tunnel. The last time I’d walked through this tunnel, I’d been following the ghost of Evangeline, and she’d left me alone when I reached the door to the cave of the nephilim.
The door was before us sooner than I wanted it to be. It was some heavy metal, warm and burnished like ancient gold. There was no knob but there were seven bolts to be drawn.
I reached for the top bolt. Jude stayed my hand.
“Wait,” he whispered, his head cocked to one side. “I hear something.”
I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my own breath, and the rustling of Beezle shifting inside my coat.
The tunnel had an odd hushed quality about it, like it was soundproofed. But a wolf could hear for miles.
“The nephilim?” I asked in a low voice.
He shook his head. “Whatever it is, there are a lot of them. Hundreds of them.”
We all stared at the door.
“It can’t be more nephilim,” I said, horrified at the thought. “The nephilim are the children of Grigori and human women.”
“How do you know Azazel hasn’t been breeding more?” Beezle asked quietly.
I really hoped that wasn’t true. I was sure that if Azazel had been breeding nephilim, then the human
